


Unladylike

by PhryneFicathon, Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hungover Sex, Phryne snores, mushy and romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Jack wakes up with a hangover the night after Phryne’s welcome home party. He is not alone.





	Unladylike

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justsare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsare/gifts).



> I think Phryne would steadfastly deny that she snores but I bet she does. Jack will never stop teasing her about it.
> 
> Prompt: Someone seems to be behaving in a very out-of-character way...but are they?

The rich, golden light of dawn broke through the curtains of Jack’s bedroom. It glinted off the brass of the bedstead and turned the simple white cotton of the bed sheets into something rare and exotic. Not unlike the woman who was, against all reason, sharing the bed with him.

Jack woke slowly, consciousness intruding rudely into sated, post-coital dreams and greeting him with a detailed explanation of why you should not drink your body weight in champagne, even during a celebration. Despite his throbbing head, his body was still humming in joyous elation.

Phryne was home. She was here, with him, in his bed and stark naked.

She was also snoring. 

Not the little, ladylike snuffles he might have expected of her. No these were closer to the sound you might get if you attempted to saw a walrus in half. There was a damp spot on his shoulder where she had started to drool.

These realisations woke Jack up enough to initiate a terrible mental conflict that his hungover brain was in no way equipped to deal with.

On the one hand he was in no hurry to move; he was very comfortable, and Phryne’s soft, warm skin was pressed against the length of his naked body. Somehow, despite the modest but still respectable size of the bed, she had elected to sleep sprawled across him, one leg straddling his, her breast pressed into his chest, her arm flung over his shoulder. It was if she was afraid he might escape and was holding him fast. The idea was rather flattering. 

He didn’t really want to wake her. After her long flight and then the party at Wardlow she must be exhausted. Wait…how had they ended up in _his_ bed? He searched his aching head and concluded that this was a question for later in the day. Besides – and he wasn’t sure he was willing to admit this sober – a dishevelled, hungover Phryne Fisher, snoring like a herald of the apocalypse as she used him as a personal mattress? It was as if all of his Christmases had come at once. He wanted to savour the moment for as long as he could; there was something so intimate about it, so unguarded – more so even than the things they had done last night.

Good God. His brain, edging closer to the waking world, started to fill in those details as well. He blushed. He had done things and said things last night he never would have believed of himself. And she had enjoyed them. A lot. 

His body began to stir at the memory, adding weight to the counter argument – that he should wake her up. Her head was heavy against his shoulder, which was beginning to ache, and there was also the matter of the soggy spot where she had been drooling. Although after last night he wasn’t sure he had any grounds to object when it came to bodily fluids. The image of her with her mouth around his cock, eyes closed as she savoured the taste of him kept intruding on his consciousness. 

Yes, perhaps he _should_ wake her up. Clearly, he was going to have to tease her for the snoring. Yes. That was an acceptable reason. Not because the thought of her blue eyes made his heart sing and his mind turn pink and start spouting poetry.

Deciding his best course of action was to obtain water and powder for their respective hangovers – it would probably be wise to have some kind of peace offering if he really intended to wake her – he began to extract himself from the delicious prison of her limbs. She made a noise like a disgruntled cat and clamped her arms and legs around him, apparently unwilling to let him go. He chuckled. She really was adorable. Whoever would have guessed?

The shift in Phryne’s position in fact made the final choice for him. Her leg was now pressed into his bladder which began to make its own demands and eventually he managed to extract himself far enough to escape. She promptly rolled over, star-fishing herself across the bed, muttered something about a wallaby and continued to snore. Jack couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he quickly donned pyjamas and headed off in search of powders and porcelain.

***

The sun was unacceptably bright, which meant that this was not her bed. The curtains in her bedroom at Wardlow were chosen for a woman who liked to sleep late. She took a deep breath and a slow, satisfied smile stretched her lips as she recognised the mingled scent of beeswax pomade and sandalwood: Jack. Her mind obligingly began to fill in the details. The tension that had been sparking between them from the moment they saw each other at the airfield – with tragically too many witnesses to act on it. The party, the champagne, the dancing and then…had they really run away from her own welcome home party?

She could remember they had made the excuse of taking the air in the garden, she had kissed him by the trellis where the night-flowering jasmine grew. They had gotten a little carried away, but Jack had drawn the line at taking her right there in the garden. He had also seemed rather reluctant to re-enter the house in his subsequent state of arousal. A brisk walk to his house had been the…solution…

The delightful catalogue of events had presented her with a very clear image of Jack, the shadows of his face illuminated by a streetlamp, his eyes soft, his posture relaxed – more relaxed that she would have expected under the circumstances.

_“Can you keep a secret, Jack?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with mischief._

_“Usually, not half so well when you’re around.” He slanted his head at her, the only trace of his amusement in the crinkles around his eyes._

_She glanced from side to side as if searching for hidden eavesdroppers then tilted her head to whisper in his ear._

_“I love you.”_

They had lost a good five minutes as he pulled her close and made sure to return the sentiment with interest. Then when they had finally made it to his house…well, they had a lot of lost time to make up for.

The smile on her lips now was almost shy. Of course, a woman couldn’t be held responsible for confessions made under the influence of at least a bottle of good champagne, but…she didn’t want to take it back. It felt daring and dangerous; there was a swooping in her stomach, like the sensation of diving low in her aeroplane only to pull up at the last moment and sail up over the clouds. 

She wanted to say it again. She wanted to hear it from him in return.

Her eyes opened just a crack, screwed up again at the excess of light, then blinked fully open on the second attempt. She stretched, taking careful stock of limbs (all present, if a little sore from their night-time activities), head (fuzzy but only a little worse for drink), and stomach (rumbling rather than sickly). Excellent. It would be such a waste to find she was too hungover for a little early morning entertainment. 

Now. Where had her inspector got to?

She stretched luxuriously, sat up and took stock of the room. It was neat and respectable – or would have been if it were not for the ramshackle collection of hastily discarded clothing strewn across it – and smaller than her bedroom at Wardlow. The walls were painted in blue which contrasted pleasantly with the dark oak of the furniture. There were a few books piled on the dresser next to the bed and a rather good watercolour of the St Kilda beachfront on the opposite wall. The curtains were white and far too thin for the purposes of keeping the light out. It smelled of Jack.

She amused herself with the idea of wandering his house naked in search of him. In all probability there was no-one else there, but there was always the possibility of a visitor or some kind of housekeeper. She was saved from the possibility of scandalising anyone when Jack returned carrying a glass of water and a sachet of powder. 

Her mouth nearly dropped open.

Her dour Inspector had just appeared before her like a delicious apparition, wearing an absolutely gorgeous pair of burgundy silk pyjamas. She blinked. Of all the things she had considered Jack might wear to bed, and there had been a considerable amount of internal speculation on that point, she had never considered that he might favour anything so _sensual_. He really was a never-ending source of mystery.

“I thought you might need this.” He proffered the headache remedy which she took gratefully, pouring in the powder and drinking it down at once, shuddering slightly at the bitter taste.

“Thank you, Jack. How’s the head?” If she was suffering a little this morning, she could only imagine how her poor inspector was feeling.

“Much improved now someone has stopped snoring. I woke up earlier thinking the house was being demolished.”

That self-satisfied little grin was not going to be allowed to stand.

“I hope you’re not referring to me, Inspector! A lady never snores.”

He slipped in beside her, and she couldn’t resist the urge to run her hands all over his silk-clad frame, torn between enjoying his unexpected sartorial choices and getting him naked again as soon as possible. She had a whole catalogue of ways to wipe that smirk off his face, and she intended to try all of them.

“Well apparently brilliant, infuriating, irresistible lady detectives do, and are by no means subtle about it.” With each adjective he placed another light kiss along her jaw, and she arched her neck, enjoying his attentions despite her clear need to put him back in his place.

“I feel that these scurrilous accusations may be nothing more than a ruse, intended to distract from the real question here.” She teased.

He raised his eyebrows quizzically as his hands took all manner of delightful liberties: stroking along the bare skin of her back, caressing her hips, squeezing her derriere. He was being very distracting, but Phryne remained undeterred.

“Since when does the deeply respectable Senior Detective Inspector Robinson wear silk pyjamas? And in such a daring colour too. I’d never have guessed.”

Jack’s smirk was sly and tasted delicious. She had to kiss it several times just to be sure.

“Well after you were good enough to lend me a pair, I decided I could use some of my own. You really are sinful influence on me.”

Hearing Jack growl out the word ‘sinful’ whilst his fingers stroked their way up the inside of her thigh was intoxicating. She didn’t know where this newfound talent for seduction had come from and frankly, she didn’t care; all that mattered right now was removing those surprisingly daring pyjamas as quickly as she possibly could.

Her fingers found the fastenings at the front of the shirt and began to flick the buttons open one by one, she leaned in to bite down on his earlobe and whisper, “That sounds like a challenge, Inspector.” 

It was her breath on his ear that brought the memory back. How on Earth could he have forgotten? 

In his mind’s eye, Jack saw again, Phryne’s face, lit up with glee as she asked if he could keep a secret. 

_“I love you.”_

She had looked so pleased with herself for saying it, and he had been so surprised and delighted it had temporarily robbed him of the power of speech. He had made up for it by kissing her senseless and now seemed like an excellent time to repeat the manoeuvre.

“I love you.” She said it again.

All barriers down it was so easy and so wonderful to say it without fear. Three little words flying from her lips like swallows, unable to be anything but free.

He felt the flutter of her eyelashes against his skin, soft like feathers, like half-remembered dreams.

“Phryne.” Her name was an exultation, a whispered prayer. And she was everywhere, everywhere and everything, within and without him, endless. “I love you.”

The words acted like a stimulant; with all cards on the table, everything out in the open and nothing left to lose, there was no reason to hold back. Phryne stroked his cock through the silken fabric of his pyjama trousers, relishing the texture, the incongruous decadence, the hot, hard length of him swelling beneath her palms. Jack moaned, kissing his way down her neck to catch a nipple between his lips. His fingers had left her thigh and travelled higher, teasing little gasps and sighs from her as he circled the nub of her pleasure.

Phryne found the tie at Jack’s waist and slipped her hand under silk heated by his skin. She had to admit, getting him out of silk pyjamas was a lot more entertaining than getting him into them. Jack had been most uncooperative last time and she had ended up needing Mr Butler’s assistance; the same could not be said today. An exquisite pair of deep red pyjama trousers soon joined the clothing on the floor. 

Jack’s head was no longer sore – the powder had done its job – but he was still feeling a little muzzy-headed from last night’s drink. This might account for his surprise when he suddenly found himself rolled fully to his back and pinned to the bed by a naked lady detective. As developments went, he could certainly think of worse; her hot, wet heat was sliding, slick and intoxicating, over his hardened cock, the sensation almost too much to bear. He was still wearing his open pyjama top, the silk a decadent caress at his back and shoulders as she pressed him into the bed, her kisses deep and desperate. He didn’t think he had ever felt so _wanted_ before. 

She would blame it on the pyjamas, Phryne decided. They really did suit him. He was just lying there, hair rumpled where he had slept on it, smirking and teasing as if their worlds had not been turned utterly inside out by last night’s events, and she wanted him so much she could hardly breathe. It was a rare thing for Phryne to truly want something. Having experienced both poverty and riches in her lifetime, she understood the value of luxury. She delighted in fine clothes, good whisky and handsome men, but knowing she could get along without them meant they held no purchase on her soul. 

Yet she was also the little girl who had spent a whole year planning a daring theft from a pawnbroker’s window, even after she had seen him smack his shop boy so hard, he broke little Jim’s teeth. The brooch was _hers._ That bastard didn’t get to keep it. She had never felt that way about a person before, and certainly not about a man. 

_Mine._ A jealous guarding of something utterly precious.

_“My Jack. My beautiful Jack.”_

It was a second before she realised she had said that out loud. She could see it in his face, in the moment just before she sank onto him and her eyes lost focus as he filled her; an expression of joy and surprise that went right to her heart. He was so beautiful, and he was finally hers for the taking. She elected not to give herself time for introspection; it took her perhaps a second to adjust before she began to move over him, grinding down fast and urgent, the feel of him inside her exquisite but somehow almost irrelevant. She wanted to see him shatter; to take his breath away and leave him shaking and incoherent, to know that to be hers meant he would never be left wanting. 

Jack was still a little sluggish from last night’s drink and Phryne’s declarations of love had entirely derailed him, leaving him fighting to keep up. He had initially thought that the bedroom was an area where he might have to prove himself. Phryne had world of experience, whilst he had been celibate for so very long - he had evidently been mistaken and delightfully so. 

Jack had been a husband and a young man once, it was far from the first time he had made love this way – with a woman on top - but he didn’t think he had ever been made love to by a woman who was so clearly the active party in proceedings; as with so many things concerning Phryne Fisher, he decided his best bet was simply to hang on tight and enjoy the ride. He knew he was hers, had known it for a long time, had denied it and fought it and finally accepted it. He had never expected her to welcome his feelings or want to claim him. He had never expected she would love him back. The feeling went beyond joy, he wasn’t sure a word had yet been invented that could truly capture it. 

He was home.

Phryne was no longer thinking; it was her favourite part of sex, letting her mind quiet as her body took over – it knew what it wanted better than she did. But even through the kaleidoscopic fracturing of thought, she could feel that this was different. No matter how high her body had flown before, there had always been some safe little corner of her heart, some part that watched and waited and kept her tethered to the ground. That string had been cut – she was soaring above the clouds and nothing was held back. She wanted more, wanted everything and she wanted it forever – or as near could be managed.

She came with a shout of his name and a curse as sweet as a caress. She could feel the chill of sweat in the hollow of her throat and across the ridges of her cheekbones. Jack’s hand was in her damp hair as he kissed her through the trembling peak of her climax and his warm, soft smile was sweet against her lips. 

“My god, Phryne you are magnificent.” His voice was rougher, deeper than she had ever heard it. He sounded awed.

“I love you.” She whispered back; they were the only words left in her head.

“I love you too. So much.” 

He looked up at her, her skin flushed red with arousal, her normally immaculate hair in disarray. He wasn’t sure how much credit he could really take for her state of post coital bliss, given that his role in proceedings had mostly been to lie back and let her ravish him, but found he didn’t much care. She loved him. Loved _him_. If an axe murderer broke in at this moment, Jack thought he could die a happy man. Although if he had a say, he would much prefer a lack of interruptions; he was still almost painfully hard inside her, and it wouldn’t take much more to tip him over the edge.

Phryne’s eyes began to refocus, and a joyful, artless smile spread across her face. She turned her head to kiss Jack’s hand where it rested against her cheek, relishing the stroke of his thumb at her hip, letting him ground her as she returned to Earth. She began to smooth her hands along his arms, over the soft, red silk of his pyjamas, until she could tangle her fingers in his. Gently, she pressed his hands into the mattress on either side of his head, leaning her weight against him as she began to move again; slowly this time, drawing his pleasure out, tightening her inner muscles around him with each steady thrust of her hips.

It should have felt wrong, to give in to her so utterly. Their relationship was and always had been one of give and take and here he was, giving in and taking everything. But it felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to argue. Besides, there would be other times, a lifetime’s worth maybe, for him to show her he could give as good as he got.

A white heat was building at the base of his spine, spreading out to the tips of his limbs. He could hear himself as if from a distance, begging her for her to fuck him, to go harder, faster… And then he was gone; his mind blank and limbs shaking, his lungs desperately sucking in air. 

Phryne’s kisses were soft and sweet, drawing him back to the world, she had let go of his hands and was stroking his hair back from his forehead. Jack wrapped his arms tight around her naked back and held her as if he never wanted to let go. 

She was fairly sure she could live with that idea.

It took a while for either of them to speak again. They just lay there in a happy haze, Phryne fully stretched out along Jack’s body as he softened and slipped from hers. She was making adorable, contented little noises and nuzzling into his neck. Jack was wearing a broad, gormless grin that he couldn’t have wiped off his face if he tried, and tracing little patterns on the bare skin of Phryne’s back with his long fingers.

“That was…” she breathed, with no idea what she was going to say next. Luckily, as was so often the case with Jack, there was no need to say it out loud.

“It really was. I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train.” 

“A charming freight train, Jack.” She corrected him – not for the first time.

“Naturally.” 

An uncomfortable thought crossed his mind.

“Is that how you prefer it? With you, um…taking the lead like that?”

He was beginning to worry that his enthusiasm the night before might have been the wrong approach, although she had seemed to enjoy it at the time.

“Oh, I’m extremely versatile.” She kissed her way lightly up his chest and neck until she reached his ear. “Next time it can be your turn to take charge.” 

He let his smile become a smirk and made no effort to hide the myriad filthy thoughts dancing behind his eyes.

“If you’re good. Right now, all I intend to take charge of is breakfast.” He smacked her lightly on the bum in a manner that suggested all sorts of possibilities for later. “Up you get, Miss Fisher, I’ll make us some tea and toast.”

When Jack dragged himself reluctantly from the warm circle of her arms, Phryne rolled over and snuggled back into the pillows. She would have to go and clean herself up soon, but for now she was ever so comfortable, her limbs lax with release. Perhaps she could rest her eyes, just for a moment.

By the time Jack had returned with a tray laden with steaming mugs and hot buttered toast, she had fallen back to sleep and had resumed snoring loud enough to wake the dead. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ungentlemanly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17644523) by [Scruggzi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi)




End file.
